wished to know was whether he had listened to her entreaty, and taken the position temporarily, without binding himself by the acceptance of a salary; or whether, wounded by the outrage of Bessy’s flight, he had freed himself from financial dependence by engaging himself definitely as manager.
“I really know very little of the present situation,” Justine said, looking at Mrs. Ansell. “Bessy merely told me that Mr. Amherst had taken up his old work in a cotton mill in the south.”
As her eyes met Mrs. Ansell’s it flashed across her that the latter did not believe what she said, and the perception made her instantly shrink back into herself. But there was nothing in Mrs. Ansell’s tone to confirm the doubt which her look betrayed.
“Ah—I hoped you knew more,” she said simply; “for, like you, I have only heard from Bessy that her husband went away suddenly to help a friend who is reorganizing some mills in Georgia. Of course, under the circumstances, such a temporary break is natural enough—perhaps inevitable—only he must not stay away too long.”
Justine was silent. Mrs. Ansell’s momentary self-betrayal had checked all farther possibility of frank communion, and the discerning lady had seen her error too late to remedy it.
But her hearer’s heart gave a leap of joy. It was clear from what Mrs. Ansell said that Amherst had not bound himself definitely, since he would not have done so without informing his wife. And with a secret thrill of happiness Justine recalled his last word to her: “I will remember all you have said.”
He had kept that word and acted on it; in spite of Bessy’s last assault on his pride he had borne with her, and deferred the day of final rupture; and the sense that she had had a part in his decision filled Justine with a glow of hope. The consciousness of Mrs. Ansell’s suspicions faded to insignificance—Mrs. Ansell and her kind might think what they chose, since all that mattered now was that she herself should act bravely and circumspectly in her last attempt to save her friends.
“I am not sure,” Mrs. Ansell continued, gently scrutinizing her companion, “that I think it unwise of him to have gone; but if he stays too long Bessy may listen to bad advice—advice disastrous to her happiness.” She paused, and turned her eyes meditatively toward the fire. “As far as I know,” she said, with the same air of serious candour, “you are the only person who can tell him this.”
“I?” exclaimed Justine, with a leap of colour to her pale cheeks.
Mrs. Ansell’s eyes continued to avoid her. “My dear Miss Brent, Bessy has told me something of the wise counsels you have given her. Mr. Amherst is also your friend. As I said just now, you are the only person who might act as a link between them—surely you will not renounce the role.”
Justine controlled herself. “My only role, as you call it, has been to urge Bessy to—to try to allow for her husband’s views–-“
“And have you not given the same advice to Mr. Amherst?”
The eyes of the two women met. “Yes,” said Justine, after a moment.
“Then why refuse your help now? The moment is crucial.”
Justine’s thoughts had flown beyond the stage of resenting Mrs. Ansell’s gentle pertinacity. All her faculties were absorbed in the question as to how she could most effectually use whatever influence she possessed.
“I put it to you as one old friend to another—will you write to Mr. Amherst to come back?” Mrs. Ansell urged her.
Justine was past considering even the strangeness of this request, and its oblique reflection on the kind of power ascribed to her. Through the confused beatings of her heart she merely struggled for a clearer sense of guidance.
“No,” she said slowly. “I cannot.”
“You cannot? With a friend’s happiness in extremity?” Mrs. Ansell paused a moment before she added. “Unless you believe that Bessy would be happier divorced?”
“Divorced—? Oh, no,” Justine shuddered.
“That is what it will come to.”
“No, no! In time–-“
“Time is what I am most afraid of, when Blanche Carbury disposes of it.”
Justine breathed a deep sigh.
“You’ll write?” Mrs. Ansell murmured, laying a soft touch on her hand.
